


Forever

by orphan_account



Series: His Reason For Pride [10]
Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen, The Scarlet Pimpernel - All Media Types
Genre: (between Lizzy and Percy), F/M, First Meeting, Fluff, Homecoming, I'm Bad At Tagging, Just Missions in General, Long Journeys, Missions, Returning Home, Sharing a Bed, Undercover Missions, because i love fluff, but more fluff, okay a little angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 04:24:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16611896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Elizabeth Bennet has two notions: One, that her world is the only one that was broken and rebuilt - after all, Fitz never seems to struggle with bits of his old self coming back like she does. Two, that Sir Percy Blakeney, Baronet, is an idiot. This is how she finds out she's wrong.Or: how Elizabeth meets Percy and discovers Fitz's part in the League (not all at once, thankfully).





	Forever

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a fluffy one-shot about Elizabeth's take on meeting Percy (and encountering Percy in general) and the discovery of the League. For the sake of this story she's fully aware of what the SP does and likes him and his League for it.

Fitzwilliam invited us all for supper at his house, and we simply could not resist. Georgiana is the most charming young girl, and I do love spending time with her. However, it is as the men join us in the drawing room after the meal that a loud pounding sounds on the door. Fitzwilliam’s eyes widen and he excuses himself hurriedly. Everyone, including his sister, stares after him with surprised looks on their faces.

Georgiana and I exchange a look, and we excuse ourselves as well and follow. As we near the entry hall I hear Fitzwilliam’s voice: “My God, Percy, you really have the worst timing. I have guests, in case you forgot.” His voice is fond, but reprimanding.

“Well it’s hardly my fault if the weather is incorrigible,” responds an irate male voice.

I look to Georgiana for explanations, and she whispers, “Fitzwilliam’s friend, I think. I recognise the voice.”

Silence. Then, “Percy, I think someone is eavesdropping.” Fitzwilliam unexpectedly pokes his head around, almost slamming his nose into mine. “Elizabeth!” he exclaimed. “ _Georgiana!_ ” His coffee-and-milk eyes flash, though out of irritation or delight or somewhere in between I cannot say.

“Please return to the drawing room,” he whispers. “A friend of mine got caught out in the downpour this afternoon, and he had something of an accident close by.” He turned back around to his guest. “Your usual room, Percy, and let’s see if you have not left some clothes from your last stay. And don’t look at me like that, they will do.”

I only catch a glimpse of white-blond hair as ‘Percy’ vanishes upstairs, limping. I wonder what sort of accident has him limping like that – and is his coat torn? Fitzwilliam catches my look of curiosity and concern, and he hurriedly says, “I will explain – Georgiana, please do make my excuses once again to Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, but this really is an emergency.”

With that, he dashes off, raking his hands through his hair in a gesture I realise is frantic – he is truly worried for his friend. Georgiana and I share a look, and we return to the drawing room, and Fitzwilliam does return after about half-an-hour, put together and polite.

His absence is remarked upon and promptly forgotten, as no real harm was done by it, and the rest of the evening passes in polite, spirited conversation. Georgiana is becoming a little less self-conscious, and Fitzwilliam is learning to tease a bit more.

I wonder who it was who could rouse Fitzwilliam with such distress? I know my fiancé’s loyalty, but he does not make friends very easily, so who could this be? It was certainly not Charles or the colonel, as the name was wrong, and Fitzwilliam would have told us if it had been either. A friend I had not met yet, then, and one Georgiana had met sparingly, if she could not identify the man upon hearing him.

The Darcys come to call the next day, and Fitzwilliam takes me aside. “Elizabeth, do you remember what happened last night?”

“Your injured friend?” Finally!

He nods. “Percy is… more than a little reckless, and as a result can get in a number of close situations. His arrival was completely unexpected, but his injuries are grave enough to warrant a stay of a few days.” A small smile curves his lips. “God knows little enough chains that man down.” He shakes his head. “What I meant was: Percy is at my house at any rate, and he wishes to meet you once he is well enough to do so. Of course, I would introduce you. Would you allow me?”

He already sounds like a good man, and any friend of Fitzwilliam’s has a point in their favour in my book, by virtue of his own friendship. I smile at him. “Of course I would. Go ahead, Fitz.”

His hazel eyes sparkle, and he presses a kiss to the back of my hand, sending a nervous current through my body. The things he does without knowing it!

* * *

Several days later, Fitzwilliam appears at my aunt and uncle’s house with both their permission and a young man about the same age as he; his hair is longer than Fitz’s, tied back, though if it were loose it would probably fall midway to his shoulders, and so fair it might almost be white. He is taller than Fitz, but only by a bit – about two inches or so – and his presence is powerful; one is almost drawn to him like a bee to honey.

His easy-going demeanour is akin to Charles’s, and his electric blue eyes are heavy-lidded and dull. This is what puzzles me: the obvious vacancy in his eyes, the way his air rides the line between childish innocence and foppish obliviousness. Why is Fitz friends with someone like that?

He is introduced to me, and I am even more shocked. Sir Percy Blakeney, of all people! I could not imagine two men in England more different than Sir Percy and my Fitzwilliam. And yet, as soon as my aunt rises to see to the children, his eyes clear up, and suddenly I can see the striking similarities.

The sharp, clear sparkle in blue and hazel eyes. The proud carriage of self and soul. The very manner in which they move – unconsciously magnetic, pulling gazes to them – is the same.

Still, Sir Percy looks wary of me, and Fitzwilliam whispers something that has him laughing softly and saying, “Zounds, but it isn’t nice to be on the other end, is it, Darcy?” With that, he bows again and waves my fiancé off jovially. “I see you are surprised to see that I am Darcy’s friend.”

I blush. Of course I had not meant to show my thoughts so plainly, but evidently his pretence of obliviousness was the measure of his perceptiveness. “I am, sir, no offence meant.”

“Oh, none taken, Miss Bennet.” He waves off my protest as daintily as his reputation suggests. “In fact, I had rather a poor impression of you before as well. I apologise for allowing one incident where you were perhaps not at your best to colour my entire perception of you.”

Which incident? We had never met before! “Sir, of what do you speak?”

He takes a breath and his brows furrow. “First, you must understand that he and I have since forgiven you, and that you should by no means feel guilty.” Sir Percy is clearly uncomfortable, and his very telling eyes keep flicking over to where Fitzwilliam is conversing with my uncle.

“Yes, Sir Percy?” I prompt.

“Ah! Yes,” he comes back to himself almost instantly, and he clears his throat. “I mean April, the first time he proposed marriage to you, and the time you turned him down.”

Oh.

There is a sinking feeling in my stomach even as my mind remembers that he said both of them have forgiven me. I still feel that way – that I treated poor tortured Fitzwilliam in such a way still makes me want to go back and shake my past self by the shoulders. I bow my head, and try not to look him in the eyes. “Darcy is my friend,” I hear him say; “but even I can admit he has his faults. If having his world rebuilt was what it took to fix one of them, then so be it. I am grateful.”

What? I look up, only to have a slender white hand briefly touch my shoulder and electric blue eyes soften, though I will not remember what changed.

I smile, and he becomes more of the Sir Percy I know, laughing and commenting some small thing about Fitzwilliam’s tie-pin or something like that. Surprisingly, I laugh as well.

 

“So, how did you find him?” Fitzwilliam asks, as they shrug on their hats and greatcoats. Sir Percy is a-ways from us, adjusting some minute detail on his cuff.

I look back, and I realize again what I knew before. “I like him,” I admit. “He’s certainly a bit… quixotic, to say the least, but I don’t find him nearly as foolish as I thought I would.”

“Aye, well, that is Percy!” he cries, whirling his hat onto his hat and directing his comment to the entry hall at large, which only houses me, him, and Sir Percy at the moment. “He _is_ a bit of a dreamer, and more than a bit of an idealist, but I’m glad you like him, my love, for I should have found it difficult had you not.”

As everyone comes to watch them leave, my ears pick up a soft whisper: “…say it, anyhow?” I caught ‘drop everything and run for Dover’ and ‘out with it’ as well, but that was it, before the gentlemen were away.

* * *

Two mornings after my wedding, I awake to an empty bed and a note on the nightstand: _Forgive me, but your husband has been stolen downstairs for a little talk. You are welcome to join us_.

My heart nearly stops at the five-petal flower at the bottom. In red, too.

My morning routine goes as fast as I can make it, and when I rush downstairs I half expect to find Fitz on his way out the door or otherwise in some turmoil. When instead I find him at breakfast with a rather unforgettable friend, is it any small wonder I am shocked?

“Sir Percy!” I exclaim.

Whatever is he here for? Since that meeting late last October, I have come to know the blond baronet better, and through him I know Fitzwilliam better as well. While Fitz grew up on English soil with English friends, Sir Percy was raised abroad, amidst the doctors’ whispers and his parents’ silent griefs, and I once had a rather inverted notion of what that had done to the young boy’s mind. The silence and studies sharpened it, gave it compassion and empathy. Because back then, if he wanted anything done, he had to initiate the action himself.

Even so, I do not presume to know why he came so early – both in terms of the hour and the day – and he seems not to hear me.

And then I realize.

The signature at the bottom of the note is unmistakeable. He is the only one here with Fitz, unless the Pimpernel is hidden elsewhere, which seems unlikely. Which would mean…!

Sir Percy seems to have deduced the reason for my expression and my silence. He flashes me a devilish smile, nods, and raises his hand. There, on his finger, rests a signet ring – a signet ring with the emblem of the Scarlet Pimpernel. The sharp twinkle in his eyes tells me what else I was unaware of – that his foolish capering was his disguise, that his semi-frequent ‘game trips’ were in fact trips to France, and that sport and fun are two, but not the only, reasons he makes those trips.

Fitzwilliam will not meet my eyes, even as I sit across from him and to the left of Sir Percy. “You gave no warning,” I say amiably; “otherwise we might have welcomed you more hospitably.”

“Please, Elizabeth.” Fitz’s voice is strained. “After we finish.” Giving him a strange look, I turn back to my breakfast, which becomes a silent affair, even the talkative Sir Percy solemn. I feel somewhat awkward, but the gentlemen appear to have no such scruples. This silence – oh God, will it end? Fitz, why are you avoiding my gaze as if it will burn you to look?

We decide to go straight to the drawing room, where Sir Percy checks – for what I have absolutely no idea – before nodding and closing the door behind him.

“I need to leave.”

I turn to face my husband, whose face is stiff with determination. “Why?”

“I presume you know of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel?” How could I not? Being in London for so long at this point in time ensures that I know much of the gossip to grace the figure of the Scarlet Pimpernel, not to mention those of his leaguers.

But if Sir Percy is the Pimpernel… what does that make Fitzwilliam?

“Let us say I do, what do you mean by it?” My tone is more formal; this is a delicate matter and this is all I know how to do.

“I am one of their number,” he confesses, as if afraid I will react badly. “I have to go; when Percy calls, the League must answer. That’s what he came here for, and that’s why I leave now.” He strides up to me, takes my hands, and yet still avoids looking me in the eye. “Forgive me, forgive me, Elizabeth, but this is a promise I made before ever I knew your name.”

I squeeze his hands back. “As if I could fault you for honouring your word,” I reply. Is there a way to describe how my heart feels? Hope and dread and love and pride are a curious, heady mixture, and it tastes even stranger on Fitzwilliam’s lips when he kisses me.

“Your injuries, Fitz!” The scars on his back, his shoulders, his chest. Bruises that have still to completely fade, cracked bones that are only partially knitted back together. I know now that these scars must be the mark of a mission; a bodily medal, if I may. I briefly wonder what happened to give him such extensive injuries.

“I can manage.” His reassuring voice belies his next words. “I probably need not say I may not return.”

“I shall hope that you do.” _And pray that that hope is enough to make it true._ I have known for less than a quarter-hour, but somehow this whirlwind of feelings is familiar already, as if I have been seeing him off for months, a year.

“Write to me, Lizzy?” His hair is soft as his forehead brushes mine, entangling our curls together, and his uncertainty is felt in the restlessness of his fingers.

“Always, Fitzwilliam.” Even though his given name is more known to him as the surname of his cousin, in moments like this it belongs to only him and me.

What else can I do? I let him go.

* * *

The door opens, and I look up, expecting it to be Fitzwilliam’s long-suffering sister Georgiana, whose company and counsel has been invaluable. She is, after all, a veteran of this kind of thing. Instead, I see Fitzwilliam himself, looking not much the worse for wear. He looks tired and worn and world-weary but I love him, I love him so that I am hardly coherent enough to say so.

I clutch at his coat, hastily dusted and still streaked with the moisture of the very early morning. Burying my face in his chest, I inhale and remember that my husband has just this certain scent underneath all his layers of damp clothing.

“Lizzy,” he rebukes, though I can tell there is no real bite in the words. “Lizzy.” This time is sweeter, the whisper of a homecoming; his warmth surrounds me and I breathe it in, revelling in it. “ _Elizabeth_.” This last is as I lean up to kiss his cheek, to nip his jaw – breathless, eager, a caged lion purring to be let loose. A shared heartbeat passes before the embrace tightens so that the lingering muggy cold in his coat is dissipated, so that his hair brushes my forehead.

Finally we pull away – I to finish what I started before he came in, and he to replace his coat with something a little more sensible to sleep in.

I slip into bed, the mattress dipping behind me when he does the same. Is it normal to be more conscious of Fitz at my back than whatever I can see in front of me? I hope so, as otherwise I have acted very strangely, even as my eyes droop and my raised heart rate slows a little in fatigue. Still, there _is_ something more I want to say.

“I like this,” I admit. “I like that I missed you and that I’m so glad to have you back. I like that you were gone in order to help people. I like you returning home.” _I wish that you will always return._

“So do I,” Fitzwilliam replies, drowsiness soaking his voice. “And I shall return home forever, until I no longer can.”

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT 15 Nov 2018: descriptive changes and adding in of several other elements. 
> 
> May do some more back-editing at some point, most likely towards Elizabeth's reaction to Fitz's departure. Feedback would be great!


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